


Foresight, not just foreplay

by myoue



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Casual Sex, Domestic, Friends With Benefits, M/M, not actually super explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 09:13:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9879383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myoue/pseuds/myoue
Summary: There’s no way I could have casual sex, Victor says, I’d fall in love immediately.





	

**Author's Note:**

> ~~Alternative summary: The only way to make someone feel extremely special is to have sex with them and give them the best orgasm they've ever had~~
> 
> i can't really explain the timeline this is supposed to take place in. they've skated before? but now they have office jobs? and phichit somehow works in the same building as yuri? also in what universe these two would actually have casual sex idk

“Have you ever kissed anyone?” Yuri is asked when he least expects it.

It’s what he least expects—not because they’re both lying there naked, sheets crisscrossing between their legs, with the largest and longest breaths Yuri’s ever had to do in recent memory. No. It’s mostly because Victor is always in the habit of asking him weird questions at weird times, and he doesn’t ever stop to think about things like the probably large, certainly red marks he’s left all over Yuri’s skin.

“No,” Yuri answers when he can, arm tired against the sweat of his forehead, giving himself over to the afterglow of feeling good and warm and comfortable if Victor will let him. His eyes close, though he hopes it’s not taken as some sort of invitation.

Though if it is it’s one that Victor doesn’t take. “Somehow I doubt that,” he mutters in something of disappointment or disapproval or somewhere in the middle. His shoulder is right up against Yuri’s, achingly hot and impossible to ignore, as Victor shifts like he’s craving for more space where he can’t find any on this bed that they can barely fit on. “You haven’t been kissed? Not even once?”

“Not that I can recall,” Yuri says without trying to be irritable.

“You can’t recall? You either have or you haven’t.”

“Then I haven’t.”

“That’s awfully nonchalant of you,” Victor says like it bothers him.

“What would you rather have me be?”

Victor doesn’t seem to have an answer for that.

It’s really not that complicated a matter. Yuri’s never dated anyone before, he’s never had a boyfriend, he’s never had any girl say she’s loved him, never liked anyone enough for any of that to happen, and he can’t tell Victor if he’s ever kissed or been kissed.

But he can feel Victor sitting up starkly in the bed anyhow, probably staring down at him like this is something they’d never _quite_ disclosed to each other, not that either of them ever felt they needed to until now, and perhaps Victor had begun to find it odd that Yuri’s lips had never actually been available after all this time.

“So… does this mean I’d be your first?” Victor says all in one breath, the slightest upturn of voice, as his hand scrunches into the folds of the blankets.

And Yuri opens his eyes, not really understanding the question. “My first what?”

-

They’re more than friends but less than lovers, is a line that Yuri had heard somewhere, probably from a cheesy movie or some mainstream pop song somewhere. But he finds it bittersweet in a rather endearingly lovely way, making a nice plaque that some artsy hipster might have drawn for an off-the-wall café or as a homemade decoration that they could put up in their bedroom of the apartment he and Victor share. It’d probably be hard to read unless you were standing right up close. Though, Victor might be able to read such a plaque from across the room—he has good vision.

“Yuuuuri!” he hears from behind the closed bedroom door.

It takes him one, two seconds to think about the implications of sluggishly making his way out of bed and down the hall to the kitchen to be greeted with Saturday morning breakfast and a sunshine smile from a lover who’s not really his lover. And it takes Yuri the whole walk down the hallway to finally recognize the scent of fried eggs and sausage and coffee that protrudes more than wafts throughout the apartment.

 “I was going to make something myself,” Yuri mumbles, stumbling towards the stove and bumping up against Victor’s shoulder, staring down at the food sizzling in the frying pan. Everything is mixed together in one big eggy mess.

Victor brings a hand up to smooth down the front of Yuri’s bangs likely sticking straight up, though the way Victor sighs at him makes it sound like they’re being rather stubborn. “It’s Saturday. Make me feel useful for once,” he says with a teasing drop of his hand down the back of Yuri’s head. His hand is warm from the heat of the fry pan handle.

“Oh.”

It’s not in Yuri to turn down something that gets put right in front of him, anyway.

“Did you have a good sleep?” Victor asks, taking the plate that Yuri had gotten to put his share of eggs and sausage on.

“Mmhm,” Yuri answers obliquely.

“I can tell by your hair.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

He sets the plate down, taking the next from Yuri’s hands before he can do anything. Yuri feels like he’s being treated extra special today. “Nothing. It just looks like you had a good sleep.”

“Well,” Yuri says, waiting greedily for the plate to be put back in his hands. “I was exhausted last night.”

Victor laughs lightly, smoothing a playful hand down Yuri’s side that makes him jump out of ticklishness than anything before Victor’s walking out of the kitchen. “I’m glad,” he calls back cheerily.

“I meant from work,” Yuri huffs, indignantly grabbing the first plate from the counter.

“Oh?”

“I was stressed. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I was doing nothing of the sort.”

“Considering I recall you being very quick last night, if anything.”

“ _Quick?_ ” Victor replies with offence.

“Quick to get on your knees for me,” Yuri clarifies, throwing him a knowing look as they sit at the table opposite each other. He’s smug and no doubt looks it. “Am I wrong?”

And Victor opens his mouth to challenge him, but, really, there’s no argument. There never is.

“Eat the food I made so graciously for you.”

“Okay. Thanks very much.”

The breakfast put in front of him is one that doesn’t take too much work to make. The eggs are just eggs and the sausages were frozen, preseasoned, so all Victor’d done was stick them on the fry pan for ten minutes or however long it takes for them not to burn. Still, it’s a gesture that Yuri appreciates.

And still, Victor looks at him, watching him scarf down the eggs and sausages all together in one bite, and making Yuri feel a little undignified for not using a knife. “It’s good,” Yuri tells him because that’s what Victor’s waiting to hear.

It makes Victor smile like he has the upper hand now with this. “It’s not burnt this time?”

“Nope.”

“The eggs aren’t too runny?” he presses. “Or not runny enough?”

“I like them however.”

Yuri’s already getting breakfast without having to put in the ten minutes work, so he’s not going to be picky on the liquidity of his eggs. As long as it’s edible he’s happy, really. And this is more than edible, it’s wholly convenient. Honestly, sometimes he thinks Victor does more than enough for him.

“If you have a preference just tell me,” Victor says between bites and some casual scrolling on his phone, probably looking at the news. Yuri knows for a fact he doesn’t really read any of it, just takes in the headlines, unless it’s something that catches his attention.

Yuri can’t help feeling it’s all a little domestic, actually—the fact that they’re eating the same meal seated across from each other, even though it’s nothing fancy. If this is Victor trying to wheedle his way into Yuri’s normally very self-centred lifestyle, well he can start by passing the salt so these eggs have some semblance of flavour.

He doesn’t ask, though. He lets Victor figure that out, even if it might end up taking a while. It’s not that the salt shaker is too far or that telling him is too much of a bother, but Yuri has spent his whole life settling and Victor Nikiforov simply doesn’t seem the type.

“My preference is having food made for me,” Yuri tells him instead, taking a swig of coffee that was also made for him. He holds out his empty plate. “More, please.”

Victor swallows down his bite. “Woah, needy!”

“It was just that good, wasn’t it?”

“Who’s flattering me now?”

“I am.”

Victor laughs, leaning his chin on a palm while chewing slowly. He regards Yuri with crinkling eyes and a smile that Yuri doesn’t deserve on this too-bright Saturday morning. “Well, let me know if and when you get tired of eating eggs every day. I’m pretty flexible, you know.”

“I know you are.”

It takes Victor a second to raise his eyebrows and Yuri raises his own back in response.

Victor doesn’t get up immediately, but Yuri doesn’t mind waiting. Later on he might even hover over Victor in the kitchen so he can see the professional at work, the exact process it takes to cooking eggs and frozen sausage. He’s wondering if Victor will try to make up some special techniques to seem cool in front of Yuri.

“What if I learned to make eggs and sausages all on my own?” Yuri proposes whilst carefully watching for the flickers in Victor’s expression.

But he doesn’t have to look too hard to catch Victor’s threatening glare at him as if Yuri’d just called into question Victor’s very purpose in life. “You wouldn’t do that,” he counters.

“Oh, I wouldn’t?”

“You want me out of commission that badly, huh?”

“Are you a robot or something?”

Hearing him say that reminds Yuri of something, though.

Victor sighs, clattering his fork to his plate, holding his hand to his forehead, shaking his head back and forth. “My beloved Yuri, are you sure you wouldn’t die without me being your personal eggs-and-sausage dispenser every weekend? It’s an important job, you know. It requires skill, dedication, an in-depth knowledge of a certain someone’s particular tastes…”

“As much knowledge as that takes, which it doesn’t…” Yuri leans his head on his hand, chewing, really looking at Victor. “Would you say it’s more important than going back to professional skating?”

Victor swallows down a bit of coffee, eyes immediately creasing, lips pulling down into a hard frown. It’s something Yuri can’t help but notice. Victor can probably taste it, too—their coffee that tastes like the steel bottom of their coffee pot mixed with the equivalent of rain runoff.

But it flickers on too fast because in the next moment Victor’s frown is turned over to an apologetic smile, and Yuri’s not sure if it’s for his poor attempt at making coffee or what he has to say.

“If I did go back, it might be me who’ll die without you then.”

He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t say anything else on the topic. It’s a bad habit he’s starting to pick up from Yuri and if Yuri had any say in it, well, it’s Yuri’s own bad habit too so he might be called out on it.

“I’m only joking!” is what Victor does say afterwards, and his attempt at a sincere smile is the least believable Yuri’s seen to date. Which is saying a lot since he’s seen a lot of Mr. Nikiforov’s beautiful fake smiles—not that Yuri’s ever been on the receiving end of one until now.

Victor’s phone screen later changes from news headlines to the wikiHow on how to make coffee as he goes to make that second helping. A slave to Yuri’s every whim.

-

 “How are things going at home?” Phichit asks him this week like clockwork as the two of them stand in line at the coffee shop across the street. Yuri’s beginning to think it might be less of a hassle if they just meet up at the coffee shop first rather than going into work and then heading out for a coffee run.

“Fine,” Yuri answers as he always does, shifting on his feet. Today he can’t decide if he wants his usual coffee or if he might go for one of those holiday specials that gets taken off the menu once the season’s over. They’re more expensive but maybe he can treat himself. Just for today. “I think Victor’s in love with me.”

He almost wishes Phichit hadn’t heard that. If he had a drink in his hand already he might have dropped it. “What! And just when were you going to tell me this?”

“I mean, I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Sort of ruminating on it.”

“Did he say he was?”

“No.”

“Then how’d you realize?” Phichit is practically on his toes at this point.

But there hadn’t really been any moment of particular realization that he can tell Phichit. It’s more like all of the things had merely slowly built up over time, and Yuri had started to take notice of more and more of those things until they became impossible to ignore. And for all he knows he could just be flattering himself, taking everything Victor says and does to heart. Victor could be the type to attach himself to anyone who’s available. Actually, that’s exactly the type of person Victor is.

“I never realized. I just knew.”

It doesn’t really make any difference whether he believes Victor is actually in love with him or not. He’ll go on with his life as he always has. Rather, Yuri’s more concerned with how he’s supposed to act if this were to ever come forth between the two of them. They live together, eat together, and they’ve seen more than enough of each other already. He quite likes Victor, too. And if Victor seems fond of him, there doesn’t seem to be room for much else.

He likes breakfast being made for him. Maybe there’s more of that that he can look forward to. He tells all this to Phichit before they even leave the coffee shop.

“Well, I guess it was bound to happen. One of you falling in love.” Phichit seems to glance at him like he has something else to say before he clamps shut and says instead, “Being friends with benefits is a difficult line to straddle.”

Yuri can feel his face twist at that. “I hate being called that.”

“Right, sorry. Do you have anything better I can call you guys instead?”

He doesn’t have anything better, really. Victor is a one-night stand over the course of however many years now and yet there’s still something missing to prevent them from being in lover’s territory, so is it really any surprise that Phichit always defaults to that label for them? No, clearly not.

“Casual sex?”

“How about occasional stress relief?” Yuri offers up bitterly. “In any case, I’m not really sure why the sex has to be the defining part of our relationship. We’re just friends. That do things. Sometimes.”

“Friends… that have something extra. Like a benefit of some sort…”

Yuri sighs loudly.

“Well, do you love him?” Phichit asks because of course he does, nudging into Yuri’s elbow when they’re headed out the door and Yuri’s drink nearly spills all over his hand. “It’ll solve all your problems.”

“Love is a problem solver now?”

“Love’s complicated,” Phichit agrees wistfully.

Yuri’s never loved anyone—is the only solid conclusion he can come up with, taking a long sip from his coffee like he’s trying to stall for time both to himself and to Phichit. But in the end he stays with that conclusion, as he always has.

And after letting the slosh of liquid wash around his mouth, burning hotly down his throat, Yuri comes to realize he’d forgotten entirely to add cream and sugar to it. He hadn’t treated himself to that presweetened holiday drink, after all.

-

Yuri keeps up the charade of convincing himself that this realization of Victor’s love for him, if he can even call it a realization, doesn’t affect his behaviour in any way. But he can never be sure. It’s hard to be sure about anything. Dealing with something like this becomes so prevalent, present in every aspect of their lives, that Yuri is constantly wondering if Victor is the one stringing him along or not. If his actions are as obvious and oblivious as Victor’s are and he’s playing the fool for not calling Victor out.

_So you love me, huh?_

None of this is anything he’s planning on bringing up himself either way, not unless Victor does first. He’s decided that Victor is completely unaware of his knowing, and Yuri’ll pretend he’s totally oblivious too.

He’ll continue to be oblivious every time he’s losing himself to Victor’s practiced touch that knows exactly where to press every time, stuttering out Victor’s name in breathy syllables, letting himself come with a hand wrapped around him, so undeniably almost insistently gentle on him. He can bury into the corner juncture of Victor’s neck and the pillow and forget about everything for just a moment.

And for these moments, everything is blissful.

“ _I love_ —” Victor murmurs indistinctly with the mess of kissing he does down Yuri’s neck, like he’s the one caught up in the feeling. He holds Yuri to himself by wrapping an arm around Yuri’s bare upper back, pushing their chests close together.

And Yuri’s breath hitches from those words, trying to mask it as a particularly good shiver that wracks through his body when his elbows shake on either side of Victor’s head on the pillow. Spread out like this, laid bare and open on top of Victor, Yuri doesn’t have anywhere to hide. It’s exposing. His whole body stills, waiting, hovering over Victor with the blankets sliding off the bed, even whilst his chest still heaves with every torturously quiet breath that slews from his lips.

“I love when you do that,” Victor ends up saying, the blurry colour of his skin flushed a deep red down his face and the curve of his shoulders from earlier, and it’s dubious if Victor had changed what he was about to say at the last second. It’s hard to tell in the swirling haze, and also because it’s Victor—who seems to run off on his own accord, babbling nonsense even when he’s already come ten minutes ago and doesn’t have passionate desperation as an excuse. “So good, so beautiful, you’re so…”

“When I do what?” Yuri asks breathlessly.

After taking his hand out from between them to grab a tissue from the side table, Victor has no qualms about dragging the fingertips of his free hand up the nape of Yuri’s neck with such feather light tenderness that it has Yuri arching into it and inadvertently shivering all over again. It’s so unfair the way he does that. “When you call my name like that. In such a sweet voice,” Victor murmurs in the softest of tones, right next to Yuri’s ear. “I never get tired of it.” He says it like he doesn’t expect Yuri to think anything of it.

But it’s these very things that Yuri can’t ever get out of his mind.

“That’s it?” Yuri muffles into the pillow, feeling so unbearably hot. “How many times have people said your name before?” He can see it all so clearly still, the interviews, the photographers, the screaming fans all pining for Victor’s attention.

“It’s different coming from you. Keeps me on my toes.”

Though, being on the world stage has started to seem like ages ago. They must wonder where Victor’s gone, what kind of life he’s living now, whose name he screams every other night. There’s a bit of guilt that’s wrapped itself up in Yuri’s gut, hidden away but never fully dispersed, that tends to come back up at the most inopportune moments.

“Different how?” He wants Victor to elaborate.

“…Dunno.”

“Victor.”

“Mmm, just like that.”

Yuri pauses, wondering if Victor ever thinks about telling him exactly why he left the world stage. Even if Yuri knows why. It’s become obvious. But will Victor ever actually say it? Will he soon grow tired of being oblivious and ignorant? “I guess I don’t mind indulging you,” Yuri says even though he has ulterior motives. He might just pull it out of Victor forcefully using the only method he knows.

Victor doesn’t care, doesn’t even hesitate, pressing his lips smiling wide into the underside of Yuri’s jaw, and curling his fingers one by one along Yuri’s neck to hold him closer. “Please do.”

He rolls them both over to the side, clutching the blanket falling off the edge to pull over their naked bodies. He lets out a satisfied sigh, already on the brink of sleep when he puts an arm around Yuri to tug him in even closer. His skin is still sticky but temptingly warm and despairingly pleasant, and Victor leans an arm off the bed, outside the blanket, to underhand toss the used condom and tissues back onto the desk after superficially cleaning them knowing full well Yuri will be the one to have to touch all of those things in the morning.

“Don’t just leave them there.”

“Hm?”

“ _Victor_.”

“I’m sleeping,” Victor huffs, ignoring him. He wraps an arm around Yuri’s head in an effort to have Yuri too comfortable and too warm cuddling with him to do anything, hugging Yuri to the point that he’s so squished he has to make a barely audible sound of complaint.

“Vic—”

Victor’s feigned sleep is completely ruined though when he decides to inconspicuously snake a hand down between them under the blankets to rest against the soft of Yuri’s hip, pinching gently.

“Or should I add another tissue to the pile instead?” Victor whispers huskily, nose brushing against Yuri’s, their lips dangerously close. “Keep saying my name and I’ll make you forget about the tissues entirely. Or maybe it’ll be the other way around?”

He hates responsibility and will avoid it at all costs.

“Yuuuri.”

Seeing as Victor doesn’t seem to have any limits to what he says whatsoever, let alone know how to stay within them, Yuri gets up on his knees again, straddling Victor’s hips, digging hard into his abdomen. Though Yuri’s not opposed to another round, if anyone’s going to be the one needing more tissues it’s going to be Victor.

“Are you absolutely insatiable for me?” Yuri hisses. Victor’s hand remains firmly on his hip.

“Yes. Definitely.”

“You want me so bad?”

“So bad.”

“All night long if you could?”

“All night,” Victor agrees, and then lets out a breath like he’s completely relaxed instead of excited. “And forever. If you’ll have me.”

Yuri freezes.

“What?”

He can’t help but feel the weight of that like a cement block dropped on him, acutely aware of the way Victor shifts underneath him because he can’t really move with Yuri sitting like a rock on top of him. Victor’s hand slips down from Yuri’s hip to settle warm against the inside bend of his knee.

“You heard me…” Victor is just barely mumbling before drifting off. His eyes close with a heavy exhaustion after having fought to keep them open purely for Yuri’s sake until now.

But Yuri wants to flick at Victor’s face, wake him back up so he can ask just what the fuck Victor meant by what he said, if Yuri had even heard it properly. He’d teased Victor far too much, preyed on Victor’s inability to be awake past 11 on a good day, let alone to be properly coherent. It’s backfired spectacularly.

Because it doesn’t seem to matter that Victor will catch himself at the last second, rephrasing what might have been an accidental confession or a casual admission, when what he does end up saying during the most truthful time of night isn’t any better at all. When everything else he says is like he’s given up on a filter altogether. His words, so embarrassingly obvious with adoration, his touches even worse, go so far over the line that Yuri might very well go insane with all of it. And Victor doesn’t seem to care one bit of how it’s supposed to affect Yuri.

“Unbelievable…”

And without a second player, Yuri falls dejectedly to lie back against Victor’s chest, listening to the rumbling of Victor’s heartbeat and his even breathing, and knowing Victor’s definitely fallen asleep already.

-

“So is that why you quit competitive skating?”

“Is what why?”

“Because you want to be with me.”

Victor is staring at him with the brightest, most innocent look on his face in the buttery bathroom lighting while buttoning up his shirt. Considering mornings are Yuri’s time to be cognitively deficient, he can’t quite tell if Victor remembers nearly pseudo-proposing to him the night before.

“Forever,” Yuri tacks on like it’ll make a difference.

“Of course it is,” comes Victor’s immediate unabashed reply, expression turning a little sour but it’s not because he’s upset. “Didn’t I say that before too?”

Yuri wobbles a little on the spot in front of the bathroom mirror.

That he’d die without Yuri?

“Oh, right.” He might’ve said that before already. It really doesn’t seem to matter if Victor’s awake or on the verge of sleep after all.

-

They take the train to work together every morning, and Yuri doesn’t really know why they do. It’s nothing like carpooling to save gas and money. They’re both in the same direction and work at the same times—so it’s convenient? For who exactly?

“It’s crowded today,” Victor mutters, standing a mere two inches from Yuri who’s pressed up against the back doors, with Victor having only a hand bracing against the glass next to Yuri’s head to keep his balance.

“Isn’t it crowded every day?” Yuri replies, yawning so hard he feels almost more tired afterwards.

“Not like this.”

“It’s because we left later than usual.”

Yuri has to fight to keep his eyes open, staring at the blindingly crisp plaid tie of Victor’s suit in front of him like it would help wake him up. Standing in one place makes him tired.

To be honest, he’d taken his time that morning, bothering Victor with questions Yuri already knows the answer to, and he’d probably stood in the bathroom readjusting his own tie about six times—all the while waiting for Victor to impatiently leave without him lest he be late for work.

Clearly, Victor would rather be impatient _and_ late for work. His foot taps the ground and his arm fidgets like it’ll help move the train along.

“Maybe I should get a car,” Victor muses with a frown, his outstretched arm growing rigid from the train shaking. “Then we could face rush hour from the comfort of our car. It’ll just be the two of us.”

Maybe he should do that. He has a perfectly operational driver’s licence that seems to go to waste after all.

“Don’t let me stop you,” Yuri says, feeling them roll into the next station and bouncing back in place when it stops. “Taking the train every day isn’t so great.”

Is it so bad that he wants to sleep on the way to work while Victor drives him around?

“I don’t mind it,” Victor says. “Taking the train.”

“Why? Because you like crowds?”

“A little bit.”

“Really? You like crowds.”

“Yeah, a little.”

Yuri’s flashed back to the hordes of people, the roaring crowds, the camerapeople and the fans that pull at Victor’s sleeve. It stirs up his gut again. “Or is it because you actually like being pressed up against me like this?” he blurts.

Victor nearly does a double take. Yuri doesn’t move, lets the words sink in, even when they’re not _really_ pressed up against each other. They’re still two inches apart. That’s mostly because of Victor’s insistence on giving Yuri space, though.

“No… that’s—”

“Admit it.”

What’s there to admit to?

“What’s there to admit to?” Victor hisses exactly that in hushed tones despite growing pinker by the second, and to be honest Yuri doesn’t have an answer for him. “It’s crowded in here. I can’t help being pressed up against you,” Victor tells him sensibly.

Still, Yuri can’t stop himself. “But you still love it, don’t you?”

Victor splutters, like the sound might drown out Yuri’s words. “What?”

“Don’t you?” Yuri repeats more aggressively. “You love… it.” But it doesn’t matter how many times he repeats it or how forward he is because it doesn’t seem like Victor has a response for him. He turns his head to the side, eyes cast away.

It does frustrate Yuri that Victor only seems willing to curb his ridiculous language when they’re within the earshot of other people, even if he can’t blame him entirely for doing it. After all, there are strangers all around them. But many have headphones in, many are engrossed in their paperback books and their phones, and if they’re paying any attention to them Yuri doesn’t notice because he’s not looking at anything besides the glare Victor has on him now, with something a little fiery behind it.

And this ignorance of everyone around them is about the only comfort Yuri has in being able to say such ridiculous things out loud himself.

When Victor takes in a breath, his knee brushes up against Yuri’s. The space between them decreases to about one inch.

“You’re extraordinary, you know that, Yuri?”

“Save that kind of talk for the bedroom, Victor,” Yuri nearly shouts.

And with that, Yuri’s station arrives and the doors behind him open. He slips out without another word along with the rush of people that have to curve around Victor forced to stay on the train for his station coming up later.

God, Yuri can’t believe he’d said all those things in public.

It’s a good thing his stop had come at the perfect time, couldn’t have been more perfect actually, since Victor really might have just dragged him off to the nearest subway bathroom if he’d had any more time to process. Yuri tight-lips a smile as he rushes up the stairs, wishing he could have seen the last look on Victor’s face.

-

“How’s the home life?” Phichit asks him while tearing his fourth sugar packet into his drink.

“Same as always.”

-

He doesn’t have to wait long, coming home with the morning’s events swimming around in his mind all day.

On a typical evening, he’d be home just slightly earlier than Victor.

But he’d really taken his time today.

He’s barely through the door when he can already hear footsteps padding down the hallway, probably because Victor has superhearing to match his unbelievable eyesight. Or he might have been waiting around for the slightest noise, had probably come running ever since Yuri had emerged from the elevator down the hall.

It doesn’t seem as if Victor had any time to change out of his daywear when he appears from around the corner, though—his white shirt still half tucked into his pants, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, the ugly plaid tie Yuri had gotten him for his birthday strung around his neck. Overall, it’s a look that says _Maybe I’d Just Gotten Home Too_ but also _I’d Spent Those Short Minutes After Arriving Hurriedly Crafting This Look To Seduce You Before You Got Here_.

Considering how he must have mistaken just how long it would take Yuri to arrive, the expression on his face is as darkly irritated as ever, somewhere between sexual frustration and actual frustration. It’s incredible. It’s priceless.

“You’re a mess,” Yuri remarks with another smile he can’t hold in, setting his shoes aside and watching Victor trek ever so closer. He thinks he might be devoured on the spot.

“I was late today,” Victor tells him petulantly, just a step or two away now, with a stance that blocks the narrow hallway as he looks over Yuri with a wolfish glaze in his eyes.

Yuri can’t suppress his amusement, tilting his head up because he knows Victor can’t resist when he does that. “And?” He darts his tongue out to lick his lips. Victor’s about to lose it.

“It’s your fault.”

“So?”

“Can you think of any way to make it up to me?”

Before Victor even finishes that sentence Yuri is already in the process of casting his shoulder bag to the floor and shrugging out of his suit jacket to hang neatly over his arm. Even hooking a finger into the tie around his neck and pulling it loose just slightly manages to darken Victor’s expression but doesn’t provoke any sort of real action from him other than a slight twitch and hooded eyelids.

“Oh? Have you thought of something?”

“I have,” Yuri purrs with just as much sultry animosity. “Been waiting all day for me, huh?”

“All day.”

With a loosened tie now so he almost matches Victor’s own dishevelment, Yuri holds his hand out, waiting for Victor to take it and ravish him all the way to the bedroom considering he’s also pretty eager to get this moving.

It’s not often they do anything straight after work—Yuri had always believed he was rather normal in that way. At any other time he wouldn’t be leaving his bag lying around in the hallway, letting Victor take his hand with all of the elegance and poise of skipped foreplay in a romp that just got moved up.

He almost can’t wait to hear the sweet nothings Victor will come up with today to whisper into his ear, crooning about how hot and bothered he got on the train because of Yuri, how Victor couldn’t stop thinking about him all day. Just the anticipation of it all has Yuri blinking slowly at Victor’s back, imagining the walk to their bedroom like it’s their innocent first time and not their tired millionth. Maybe Victor might even throw Yuri up into his arms princess-style just to drop him unceremoniously on the bed before crawling all over him like he might have done once or twice before, or maybe that was all just in a dream Yuri had.

So when Victor seems to pause after only a few steps in order to throw a glance back at Yuri with a look of contemplation like he’s forgotten entirely what to do next, it’s… odd.

And Yuri can only stare back.

It’s odd the fact that Victor doesn’t immediately drag him off, that if he doesn’t then the image of them holding hands in the middle of the hallway will start to fester in Yuri’s brain. It’s not what they do. And it doesn’t help that Victor takes the time to rub a thumb against the inside of Yuri’s palm, like he’s testing what it would feel like, making Yuri’s heart jolt at the unexpected intimacy.

Why has all of this become something that Yuri thinks about?

It could be because the circumstances today are somewhat unusual for them that it’s thrown everything off.

But in one smooth motion Victor draws back in whilst tugging Yuri simultaneously forward, his other hand moving to cup Yuri’s waiting neck, and without hesitation—Victor kisses him.

Not on his neck in his usual attempt to draw moans of ecstasy from Yuri’s lips, not between Yuri’s collarbones trying his damnedest not to leave marks, and not against Yuri’s forehead every morning after they wake up with the assumption that he’s far too drowsy to notice anyway.

Victor kisses his lips right then—an event that he’s yet to attach specific rhyme or reason to.

It makes him back up harshly into the door behind him, away from the bedroom, with Victor following eagerly, stumbling into him, nearly tripping, with Yuri having let his jacket drop to the floor to gather in a lump around their feet. His eyes widen even when Victor’s own close as if he’s been planning this all along, confessing everything he’s been dying to say through the caressing and the licking he does into Yuri’s mouth.

Yuri’s heart pounds in his chest, mouth dropping open in a gasp when Victor’s lips pull it ruthlessly out of him. He tries, fails, to hold back a desperate noise that only gets swallowed up immediately, and the urgency of Victor’s body pressing now right up against his with no space in between feels like glass-shattering relief. All of it has been building up well before the events of this morning. They’ve done far more, gone further than this, but somehow this feels like the closest they’ve ever been. Like Yuri can feel Victor’s every thought, every breath, every feeling—condensed.

The hand on his neck slides around to grasp gently at the back of Yuri’s hairs, tingling against his nape, thumb rubbing against his skin there. His other hand laces through Yuri’s fingers at their sides.

And Yuri melts into it all, kissing achingly back.

Without warning, he’s almost falling forward when Victor pulls himself back all too soon. The room is spinning slightly and Yuri feels a haze settle over him, more wrecked than the average post-orgasm, barely aware of Victor trying to get his breathing under control as well and nudging Yuri’s glasses back up the bridge of his nose for him. It’s almost strange that he can see Victor so clearly when normally his glasses would have been cast aside by now.

 “Are you surprised?” is murmured into the top of Yuri’s head when Victor comes forward to wrap his arms around Yuri’s middle, squeezing him tightly before either of their legs can give away.

But it’s not Yuri’s legs that feel broken when his lips have to work to whisper back, “A little.”

“It’s payback.” Victor laughs lightly against him, and then buries his nose into Yuri’s hair. “Sorry, I took your first kiss. I hope… it’s—That’s okay, right?”

“It’s…” Heart thrumming in his chest, lips feeling entirely too sensitive to the air that stings around them, Yuri can’t help sinking into the warmth of Victor’s arms, eyes closing of their own volition. “This isn’t foreplay?”

Victor seems to relax around him as well. “It’s not _just_ foreplay.”

“…Isn’t it?”

“Oh, how cruel! I put all my feelings into that kiss.”

And Victor doesn’t need to tell him that. “I know,” Yuri mutters, quieter than he intends.

It’s funny because Victor would’ve been the first to say that hardly anything surprises him these days. He’s hardly ever embarrassed, almost never giddy whenever they touch. He doesn’t stutter his words, nor does he have to pluck up the courage to ask Yuri something so simple, like if he were the one to ask if sleeping together just once or twice would be okay. They’re like an old married couple without the old or the married or the couple part.

Which makes it all the more poignant when Victor’s hug around him becomes so tight it hurts, like he knows what Yuri’s thinking already and doesn’t want to admit it, either. He’s always known in some way or another, even if he doesn’t quite realize the extent.

“Sorry.” Victor plants another kiss, this time close-mouthed, into the top of Yuri’s head when it seems too much time has passed in silence, and Yuri wants to tell him not to apologize because it’s only been five seconds and Victor already can’t commit to his so-called payback. “If you didn’t like it… well, I’ll give you anything you want tonight. I’ll put all my feelings into a really nice blowjob. How about that?”

 “Really?”

“Yep,” Victor says unflinchingly. “Unless that’s not what you want, either?” He says it like he’s open to serious suggestion, leaning back to take Yuri’s face in a gentle hold, staring determinedly, tenderly, into his eyes because Victor does everything with nothing less than total conviction.

And yet if Yuri stands perfectly still, he thinks he can catch the shake in Victor’s fingers against his face. If he listens carefully, he might be able to parse out the beating of Victor’s heart and the reason why he never ever says anything when it comes to dancing around what they both already know but can’t bring themselves to admit. Maybe it’s another bad habit that Victor’s picked up off of him. And for that, Yuri has no one else but himself to blame.

So in an attempt to show from inside of him the Victor from back in the day—days that are behind them and are never coming back—Yuri will pluck up the courage that Victor’s never needed, swallowing back the nerves that Victor never seems to have.

“Love me,” Yuri exhales, placing his hands overtop Victor’s and clutching them closer and tighter against his face, his eyes fluttering closed in the process. “Kiss me again, Victor.”

And still Victor is always one step ahead of him.

**Author's Note:**

> they start to kiss a lot more after this.


End file.
